The Cliché Laboratory Tour
by Lady Weird
Summary: Cliché: "an idea or element of an artistic work which has been overused to the point of losing its original meaning or effect". We, the science comity, are pleased to welcome you in a world of half-baked chimical reactions, of vials full of fluffy sweetness and gooey angst, of disections, of randomness, disbelief, and non-sense, all concerning "The SOMA Clichés". Enjoy the tour !
1. Intro

As you all know, they will never be enough so/ma in the fanfiction world. We, the science comity, enjoy very much basking in the puddle of gooey cuteness that is this pairing. However, We, the science comity, were astonished to discover that the stories we read and swooned over were following a precise canvas of themes and subjects. Thus, they fall into this deep but small pool that is commonly referred as: "The Clichés".

…

LE SHOCK !

(cue collective gasp)

We, the science comity, have thus been extremely intrigued by this phenomenon, and after a collective twist of the giant screw embedded in our skulls ( in true Stein fashion), We, the science comity, are happy to tell you that we have created a laboratory, where all experiments and dissections on "The Clichés" -and its different aspects- can be run without buying an all-inclusive ticket for a magical guilt-trip.

Now, all-mighty members of the Soul/Maka fandom, beware.

You are now going to cross the threshold to the laboratory of the all-cliché-moments-ever-created, famous and infamous for its randomness and non-sense. If you wish to carry on, and acceding this realm of disbelief; We, the science comity, shall call forth the holy book of the rules that shall never be broken.

- Ownership goes to Atsushi Ōkubo, and will forever remain his.

- Do not touch what doesn't belong to you, even if it's shinny and cute and tempting. IT'S ALL A LIE !

- Wear your lacey, flower-printed, pink laboratory coat at all times, unless you insist upon being covered with highly toxic, fluffy sweetness and gooey angst spurting from the test vials around you.

- Do not lose your Cool. Soul would get mad, and mad Soul can get out of hand.

We also want to stress on the fact that we are not, in any way, responsible of any form of infection by cliché.

You have now been thoroughly warned. We hope you enjoy the "Cliché Laboratory" Tour!

And thus, let's go onward to the First Ward, where we will explore and observe with a critical eye the first romantic, cliché situation depicting our beloved test subjects : Soul Eater Evans and Maka Albarn.


	2. Of Deaths And Ressurections

**This, Dear Guests, is the First Ward. Usual rules apply at all times. Please wear the gas mask provided to avoid any contact with cliché, and leave ALL your limbs INSIDE the wagon where they belong. **

**Moving on.**

**To your right, you can see doctors fretting and screaming: they are mixing the necessary chemicals to create the one-shot which is about to unfold; portraying situation n°1 of "clichés": "Protection" ; subject n°1 : "Maka Takes A Blow For Soul".**

**Warnings : swearing, character death, crack.**

**DO NOT FRET, for We, the science comity, shall diligently guide through every step of the way.**

**Enjoy. **

_**Beyond Doubt, if you are among the Dear Guests (We, the science comity, unfortunately lost the list of participants); this show is for you.**_

* * *

It happened so fast, so suddenly, as it always does. But then again, it was his entire dammed fault, as it always is.

He picked up the pace, sprinting down one of the many narrow, dark, godforsaken alleys of London. Damn it, where was she? She must have fallen near, he knew, for he saw her pummel the paved road after he had been knocked off her hands, and thrown across the roof where they were fighting that Kishin. **( Without dying, of course, otherwise, Dear Guests, how could the whole thing be called a manga ?)**

Stupid, disgusting, son of a fuck Kishin ! He knew that a mission that seemed easy as shit but required a three-star Meister was nothing but trouble. He _knew_ it, but still he got along with it, because when she had looked at him with those determined viridian eyes, he could've as well been some _old as Shinigami_ puppet she could mend and break. **(And Dear Guests, It was always the eyes; Usually accompanied with a heartwarming description of their dept and precious color.) **

And shit, shit, _shit_ Soul was right, and he could have given anything to be wrong, but _noooo,_ because he never was lucky in the first place, so why must Luck change its mind for the hell of it?

Well, he got lucky once, with his Meister, but he considered the fact of her choosing him among tens of other weapons more a mistake of judgment and a very, _very_ rare act of stupidity on her part, than a stroke of luck on his.

Damn, he was wallowing in self-pity again. Soul was surprised to find that, in his head, he sounded like Kidd in the midst of a symmetry crisis when he did that.

_And for the sake of everything holy and true in this world, where was Maka ?_

"MAKA !

- I'm here, took you long enough !"

_Whaaaaa ?_

Soul stopped mid-stride, in a high-pitched screech, and was very close to befriend the lovely paves beneath him, but he balanced his body in the very last moment, on his toes, one leg raised in a very comical ballerina fashion.

Not cool.

Loud guffaws guided his alarmed self to his bloody Meister, apparently too busy laughing at him to mind her bruised limbs. _Great._

"Screw Piano, you could have been a greatly renowned ballerina !

- How you can say 'screw' and 'greatly renowned' in the same sentence, I'll never know"

Soul kneeled beside Maka, inspecting briefly her injured body. She had a large, but shallow gash on her side, and her leg, bent in a way he thought was _anatomically impossible_, was very unpleasant to look at. That little piece of shit fucked with her legs! Her beautiful, feminine, long, _long_ legs.** (Insert a vivid description of Soul's despair and his sense of loyalty and protectiveness. We, the science comity, are going to put it in a nut shell with the following sentence.)**

Soul's gonna gut this Kishin.

"Transform, stupid, what'cha looking at ?

- Transform_, transform_?! _You can't stand, genius_.

- Don't underestimate me; I'm strong enough, retard.

- That's not strength, that's you being _delusional!_

- Do what I say, I'm the Meister! I sense the Kishin coming our way!"

He decided to ignore her in favor of glaring holes through her already beaten body.

"Ohhh I'm sooooo gonna yell at you when we get home. I'mma yell _and yell_ and use words even you can't comprehend until I go _fucking hoarse!_

- Just transf- look out !"

He tried, he really did, but he only had enough time to turn his head and watch, horrified, as the revolting piece of rotting flesh that was the Kishin they were fighting impaled her abdomen with the only consistent limb it had left. **(Observe, Dear Guest, as test subject Maka accomplishes the literally impossible task of standing up, walking in front of test subject Soul to take the blow, and everything faster than the act of turning one's head sideway. Yes. Be amazed.)**

Then he vanished in a puddle of disgusting goo, leaving a hovering evil soul behind. **(Why must the author waste time in a plot and fight scene when the fluffy, tragic part of the one-shot is **_**oh so close?!**_** )**

Soul reacted in instinct, and made a grab for the falling girl. Her eyes were closed.

"Maka, MAKA ! Don't you dare leave me !" He started, desperate, "I'm nothing without you ! Please, please, I won't burn the shitty curry anymore, I won't look at Blair anymore, I'll burn all those porn magazines I ow-

-You own WHAT ?"

He could only stutter a highly intelligent "huh?" at the sight of the ash blond girl rising from between his arms, near death forgotten. Then he lost all train of thoughts and coherence all together when she proceeded to hit him with a very, _very hard_cover encyclopedia**. ( Dear guests, we inform you that yes, the test subject Maka Albarn possesses the amazing ability to produce a book from mid-air, in the most improbable of situations. Remove your gas masks for a few second, in a gesture of respect. HUSSAH !)**

"It's not like it's supposed to be !" She shouted, cheeks red with rage. At that, our previously passive hero came back to life, and regained his talking (and swearing) ability.

"Weren't you dying just _two seconds ago_ ?! **( Thank you for voicing that question, test subject Soul)**

- To hell with details ! You play those retarded video games, all the freaking time, never heard of post-mortem ?

- Post.. Did you just said… _Are you fucking kidding me_ ?!

- Oh, just forget it and get this thing right ! Look I'm bleeding, Imma die-

- Which doesn't seem to faze you much-

- SHADDAP.

- Yes, Ma'am… **(And here, Dear Guests, expect some heads bowing in sadness and eventual comparison with puppies – isn't it cute?)**

- As I was _saying_, just before I die, you gotta fess up and confess your unconditional love for me-

- You _know_ about _that_ ?! He barked, cheeks redening.

- What. Did. I. _Say ?_

- To shaddap. Shutting it, although I'm way too confused at this point to be good, but shutting my clap nonetheless.

- Good. Well, you confess, I cough some blood and smile sadly, I die. Then it's gonna rain, and you're gonna cry…

- I'm going to _what?_ He interrupted, affronted. Maka chose to ignore the imbecile for the sake of finishing that one-shot. **(Thank you very much)**

- … and be all pathetic, thinking along the lines of the irony of the angel of Death losing against Death, or some poetical stuff like the sky above mourning the death of a beautiful woman, the most important person in your-

- MOST IMPORTANT PERSON, THE HELL ?! I'M THE ALL-MIGHTY BLACK STAR, YOU SMALL PEASANT CAN'T BE MORE IMPORTANT THAN ME !"

Maka and Soul looked at the blue haired boy, who appeared (again) out of nowhere, bewildered. Maka was the first to recover from their flabbergasted state. **(no surprisingly, Dear Guests, tsk tsk)**

"I don't even want to know. We don't have time for your crap."

Black Star gasped, outraged.

"THE BLASPHEMY !" He then proceeded to tackle the still shocked Soul.

"Can't a girl get a romantic and tragic ending in peace ?" Whined the blond.

Apparently; no, she can't.

"Great, now all I need is papa to smother me"

The words barely left the barrier of her lips before Death Scythe Spirit Albarn rose from a nearby bush **(placed conveniently in the middle of an alley in London by a caring author)** to run toward his daughter, snot and tears smearing his face.

Oh, the Irony.

"You know what, I'm just gonna die and get it over with"

And with black star still beating black and blue the face of a brain-dead Soul, amidst a river of tears and green substance that she didn't want to think about, The Angel of Death passed away.

* * *

**Well, Dear Guests, that didn't go...**_**exactly**_**…as planned.**

**Is anyone, euh, mentally scarred ? No ? Good.**

**Did anyone, euh, shit their pants ? No? Yes ? **

**Yes ?**

**You cannot hold us responsible of any side effect, you signed the document. **

**Anyhow, we sincerely hope you enjoyed the show. Please leave your thoughts on the folded piece of paper you've been uncomfortably sitting on since the beginning. **

**The paper wants YOU to fill it, and bring it to the review box where it belongs. Don't disappoint it !**

**Now, Onward To The Second Ward !**


End file.
